


Don't Recognize Your Face (But I Swear We've Met Before)

by feverishsea



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverishsea/pseuds/feverishsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Up until the Thor incident, Steve had been relatively content with his initial evaluation of Tony. The guy was an asshole - a stubborn, brilliant, self sacrificing asshole, but an asshole nonetheless. And that was okay, sort of; certainly Steve had met worse in the army, back in the day.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Five times Steve Rogers didn't understand Tony Stark, and one time he didn't even try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thor

**Author's Note:**

> My first venture into Avengers fic; let me know what you think! There's also a bit of a That Guy With the Glasses easter egg in there, if anyone reading knows that site.

As with many other things, it was basically Thor's fault.

 

Up until the Thor incident, Steve had been relatively content with his initial evaluation of Tony. The guy was an asshole - a stubborn, brilliant, self sacrificing asshole, but an asshole nonetheless. And that was okay, sort of; certainly Steve had met worse in the army, back in the day. Hell, he saw worse right now: Nick Fury was the most ruthless SOB he'd ever met, but that didn't stop Steve from trusting him, in certain limited ways. Steve knew that Nick would sacrifice anyone and anything, including himself, without a moment's hesitation if he thought the occasion called for it.

 

See, that was what a leader did - they understood people; understood how to utilize strengths and minimize weaknesses to facilitate a mission. And Steve had been a leader all along, the serum hadn't given him that, but it was a hell of a lot easier getting people to listen to you when you were 6'3" and able to lift small planes.

 

So yeah, Steve was fine with Tony being the way he was. A bit of a loose canon, but predictable in his own way. A self-obsessed asshole capable of greater things when the time called for it. That was a man that Steve could understand; a man that Steve could use.

 

Then, on the second night after they all moved into the Stark - er, Avengers - Tower, the Thor incident happened.

 

Steve was up late. The impossible talking machine in the walls told him it was 3:47 A.M. He didn't need a lot of sleep these days, it was true, but he also didn't want a lot of sleep. Dreaming stopped being fun when all you could think about was whether or not you'd actually wake up.

 

He padded quietly along the hall to the kitchen and paused outside the door when he heard movement. Steve lowered himself to a crouch, wondering if he should get backup.

 

"No, no, don't worry about it, it's fine, they'll be good," Tony's harried voice echoed around the kitchen and into the hallway. He was talking even faster than normal but Steve immediately relaxed. "Toaster Strudel is the same thing as Pop-tarts, promise. You won't even be able to tell the difference! Unless Toaster Strudel is better, of course. Which might be the case. Who knows? The wonders of the universe are vast and stuff."

 

Before Steve could wonder too long about Tony's unreported brain damage, someone mumbled tragically, "But the manner in which they are packaged is different. Your television informs me that this indicates a grave error."

 

Steve recognized Thor's voice by the way he managed to boom even in an undertone, but that did nothing to mitigate his confusion. His shoulders slumped; Steve was pretty sure Pop-tarts were yet another thing he didn't know about 21st century New York. For a moment Steve couldn't help thinking of the easy way Tony's fingers danced on moving screens. Steve still didn't even understand what any of those screens actually did, and he felt ridiculous asking questions that he felt he should understand intuitively. 

 

"Naw, man, it's cool, don't even worry about it, seriously,  _indoor voice okay people are sleeping_ , that's all just a capitalist scheme. I would know; I run a bunch of them."

 

Thor still sounded upset, though slightly muffled, like he was talking to the floor and maybe through a mouthful of whatever Toaster Strudel was. "I come here and I cannot see the lovely Lady Jane, I cannot save my brother from his madness, I do not fit into this gathering of heroes, and I cannot even buy the correct Pop-tarts." He sounded horribly close to tears.

 

Steve heard someone take several quick steps, and then Tony said, from a different location -  _with an arm around Thor_ , Steve's mind whispered - "What on Midgard are you talking about, Wonderboy? You fit in great! Everybody loves you, buddy. You've got a cape and flowing locks and a bitchin hammer, what's not to like?"

 

There was the distinct sound of a sniffle. "I appreciate your noble attempt to hearten me, but your paltry lies cannot withstand the scrutiny of an Asgardian warrior. I am aware that I am very different from you all, and though you have been kind, I cannot count myself one of your number."

 

Tony snorted. "Then you better do a re-count, Erik the Blond, because you're right smack in the thick of things. C'mon, different? We have a gigantic green ragemonster, a dude who's more closely related to birds than a T-Rex is, Captain "I was frozen today!", a freaky-ass superspy who talks like a James Bond villain, and a billionaire who has nothing better to do with his time than get his ass handed to him repeatedly by supervillains. Honestly, buddy, I think you might be a little too normal for this group."

 

"Much of what you say baffles me," Thor said slowly, and Steve had the uncharitable thought that that wasn't exactly hard. "But I believe that I see your point. I have in fact been keeping myself too close to the shadows; not letting the sun of revelation fall over our merry crew! I must not be afraid to be myself, as none of you are!"

 

There was a brief pause where Steve guessed that Tony was re-evaluating his life, and then Tony said, "Okay, um, sure, I guess, not sure what the hell else you have to reveal, but as long as it doesn't involve public nudity, you go for it, I guess. Be your freaky Avenger self."

 

"Thank you, friend Tony!" Thor boomed. "You are truly a kind and worthy brother-in-arms." There was a sweeping noise, like a cape brushing the floor, and then a small squeak.

 

"Indoor... voice... remember?" Tony gasped. "Beauty rest for the wicked! Also ribs, ribs are good."

 

Right about that time Steve realized that he was still lurking in the doorway and moved off, gliding silently back the way he came, for some reason not wanting to go into the kitchen anymore. He felt wrong-footed, like he'd been tricked somehow.

 

That wasn't the Tony Stark that Steve thought he knew. Tony was supposed to be self-absorbed and untouchable, not the kind of man who would multitask cheering up a demigod and ensuring the uninterrupted sleep of his exhausted teammates. It didn't fit with the picture Steve had in his mind, which was a problem because now Steve was going to have to adjust that picture, but he didn't know quite how to do it. He'd never seen anything like this in Tony before.

 

Equally troubling was the knowledge that Thor never said anything he didn't mean, so Thor truly thought that Tony was kind, and worthy, and a friend. Granted, Thor also thought that Loki just needed a really big group hug, but Steve still couldn't help feeling like he'd missed something.

 


	2. Natasha

Tony got this inexplicable free pass from everyone, and it drove Steve nuts. It wasn't like he'd never seen people fawning over wealth and privilege and even intelligence before. But that was the thing - "oh, he's just Tony" and a careless hand wave didn't mean "oh, he's just spoiled and rich enough to buy Neptune". It meant "oh, he's just  _Tony_ ". Steve wanted to see what everyone else saw; wanted to know why Tony got to say outrageous things or walk right out of meetings and people would play offended for all of thirty seconds before letting a fond smile curve over their mouth.

 

"Alright, well, this has been fun, good talk, I'm out," Tony announced almost as soon as the team sat down together at SHIELD. He launched himself back up out of his chair with a bright smile, rocking back and forth on sneaker-type shoes that really shouldn't have looked good with that suit he had on. Steve caught Clint stifling a laugh on the other side of the table.

 

"Sit your backside down, Mr. Stark," Nick Fury growled. "This meeting has been going on for exactly one minute and... fifteen seconds."

 

"That long? Well geez, I'm already behind schedule," Tony said, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking like nothing more than a gleeful child, wide-eyed and wild-haired. "It's been fun times, but I have places to be, semi-evil governments to thwart. Later!"

 

He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, ignoring Fury's bellowing and Steve's weak, "Wait, Iron Man, we're supposed to be a... team."

 

Steve couldn't decide if he was furious or a little impressed. Maybe both.

 

Steve eyed Nick, wondering what the man would do, but to his surprise Nick just shook his head and carried on with the meeting. He should have been listening, but instead Steve spent the whole meeting alternately fuming and wondering why he never called Tony by his name outside of his own thoughts.

 

When the meeting finally wrapped up (admittedly, nothing interesting or useful had actually been said, but on the plus side they were now all booked up for racial diversity training on Tuesday next) and just about everyone had filed out, a small hand reached over and tapped Steve’s sleeve. He looked around.

 

Natasha raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. “He bothers you,” she said, her voice cool and nonjudgmental. Probably an honest lack of judgment, even, Natasha wasn’t the type to get hung up on everyone’s character quirks. She was more the type to ignore everything until it bothered her personally, and then to get with the stabby.

 

Steve hesitated, but… The thing about Natasha was that she actually liked being part of a team. She operated on her own, but she liked to have backup, preferably lots of it with big guns. Whatever Natasha might think of Steve's opinions, she wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt the Avengers as a team. She wouldn't tell Tony (and if she did, would Tony even listen? a small part of his brain wondered. An even smaller part whispered,  _would Tony even care what you thought?_ ).

 

Clearly this was going to drive Steve nuts if he spent any longer thinking about Tony Goddamn Stark, so he opened his mouth and blurted out, “What’s with everyone giving Stark a free ride? The man doesn’t have it easy enough already, everyone just has to go ahead and curtsy to him as well?”

 

Steve froze, afraid that Natasha was going to take offense, or, or... something... but instead she pursed her full lips and propped her chin up on her hand. She squinted at him like she thought Steve had his wires crossed somewhere, and it occurred to Steve that he could never remember exactly what color her eyes were.

 

“You know that Tony doesn’t like me, right?” she asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

 

Steve was vaguely aware that there was some sort of  _history_  there between Stark and Natasha – it seemed like it wasn’t the romantic sort, but who knew. It didn't affect them working together, so Steve had kept his nose firmly out of it.

 

“Um, kind of?” Steve said, trying to be diplomatic and failing miserably. “I don’t think he hates you or anything, he just… doesn’t talk to you much.”

 

“Yeah,” Natasha said, and Steve didn’t think he was imagining the tiny rueful quirk at the corner of her mouth. “Tony has his reasons.”

 

Suddenly Steve thought he saw what she was driving at. “And you… you still like him?” Steve asked incredulously.

 

Natasha steepled her fingers in front of her face and stared placidly at Steve. It was far more unnerving than it had any right to be.

  

"We're in the same position right now. I betrayed him, he's forgiven but not forgotten, and that's alright. I enjoyed the attention while it lasted but I can live without Tony Stark. You, though - you don't need to be here." Her face was frustratingly smooth, not betraying any of the emotions behind this confusing speech. Steve couldn't remember what they were even talking about.

 

Frustrated, Steve dropped his gaze to his hands clenched into fists on the table. "Maybe I don't like _him_. Did that ever occur to you? Maybe the guy just bugs me."

  

"Maybe," Natasha said, her voice heavy with skepticism. Steve risked a glance up at her. "But I've seen the way you watch him - you want him to look at you." 

 

Steve was suddenly attacked by a major coughing jag. Natasha stared at him unsympathetically before seemingly getting bored and leaving on her silent footsteps.

 

After sitting there and staring blankly for a little while, Steve got up and wandered through SHIELD's hallways trying to look busy. 

 

"... And this is a very stupid plan, I want you to know that, I want you aware that I disagree with you in the strongest terms, but obviously you're an idiot and you're not going to listen so I'm giving you this," Steve heard a familiar voice saying from further down the hall.

 

Steve peeked around the corner in time to see Tony hand Nick a small chrome device that looked a little like a cell phone, but obviously wasn't. Nick raised his eyebrow.

 

"Just don't use it for evil, hmm?" Tony asked in the tone of an overly indulgent schoolteacher. Nick glared, making up for his lack of eye with pure willpower.

 

"Well, if you're giving me the thing, must be you don't expect me to use it for evil, hmm?" Nick grabbed the device out of Tony's hands and examined it.

 

"No, I totally do," Tony said wryly, and ran his fingers through his hair. "But it's more important that you're able to use this."

 

Steve never would have expected that Tony was able to grasp those subtle distinctions. Subtle was not a word anybody used on Tony Stark, so far as Steve could tell. Tony was annoying and outrageous and outrageously annoying, and attacked every problem like it was a nail and he was a hammer.

 

Only, Steve was starting to think that the reason Tony did that was that most of the time it was the best way to get things done, and that Tony was actually clever enough to understand that there were times when a more careful touch was called for.

 

He peered around the corner again. For just a moment before Steve moved away he caught a flash of Tony's calm brown eyes staring back, and realized for what felt like the millionth time that he'd underestimated Tony Stark.


	3. Clint

"Wouldn't kill you to make an effort, you know," Clint told Steve one morning as they strolled out of the gym.

 

Up until that point Steve had felt great; slack and boneless the way he only felt after a good fight. There were probably other ways to get this feeling, but those thoughts were such a snarled, tangled mess in his head that he didn't even like to go near them.

 

"Sorry, what?" Steve frowned. He hadn't been going all that easy on Clint, really, he'd worked up a hell of a sweat and he'd thought both of them had a good time, but...

 

"With Stark," Clint clarified, interrupting Steve's babble of consciousness. Steve gaped at him. “What? He’s a cool guy, you should cut him some slack.”

 

“A cool – I should cut him – what the hell, Clint, I didn’t even think you liked Stark. The last time the two of you were in a room together he broke three of your arrows and you put him in a stranglehold.”

 

Clint shrugged, his face impassive and stoic in that unremarkable, who-me-I’m-just-a-guy way that made him such an excellent assassin. “Sure, he’s kind of a dick, but still. He’s an okay dude.”

 

"I’m sorry, do you – do you listen to yourself when you… Okay, um, anyway, I don't know what you mean. I haven't done anything to him," Steve protested, and even though it was true Steve felt like he was lying anyway.

 

"Exactly. You don't talk to him," Clint said. When Steve opened his mouth to protest, Clint held up a hand and shook his head. "Yeah, you talk to him at meetings and you say hi and whatever, but you don't  _talk_  to him. Not like you do to the rest of us."

 

Too caught off guard to lie, Steve mumbled, "I don't know what to say to him."

 

To his surprise, Clint burst out laughing.

 

"That's not really a problem with Stark, trust me. Give him the time of day and you'll have to tape his mouth over to shut him up."

 

"I don't think Stark's exactly holding his breath to talk to me," Steve started to say, but then Clint started frowning and windmilling his arms and Steve paused in favor of staring at him and backing away slowly.

 

"Having fun talking about me?" a cheerful voice queried, and Steve winced. Hard. Clint gave him a narrow-eyed glare, clearly blaming Steve for being indiscreet enough to get caught, and pulled an arrow out of his quiver to examine, looking like nothing so much as a cat pretending it hadn't just fallen off a balcony or something equally undignified.

 

Steve was tempted to just keep standing there staring in the opposite direction until everyone went away and left him alone. But he was a soldier, and a captain, and the leader of the Avengers. He was better than that.

 

And besides, Tony would just walk around and get in his face anyway.

 

He turned on his heel and looked at Tony, who was standing there in ripped-up jeans and some kind of graphic tee that was no doubt far more expensive than it appeared at first glance. The light of the arc reactor filtered its soft blue through the fabric at the center of his chest. Steve didn't know where to look. He never knew where to look.

 

"Asked you a question, Cap," Tony said, and Steve glanced up at his face, which was always the wrong move.

 

Because Tony was grinning at him, soft and mocking, beard framing the curve of his lips. He looked every inch the cocky rich boy, self-indulgent and hedonistic. Sometimes Steve looked at him and couldn't connect this man to the brilliant mind that had created the Iron Man suit out of scrap metal and computer code that Steve couldn't understand.

 

But then Tony tilted his head and Steve saw it; that spark in Tony's eyes, so bright it was almost blinding. The kind of intelligence that Steve couldn't even understand, that made him feel like that scrawny boy in Brooklyn even now, a hundred years later.

 

"Um," Steve said eloquently.

 

The light in Tony's eyes dimmed like a physical thing. Steve saw him straighten up again, felt his attention waver as Tony tossed off another half-smile and looked off to the side.

 

"Well, it's been fun, you've been as charming company as ever, but I need to talk to Clint, so I'll just go find him wherever he's scarpered off to, he's probably hiding the ceiling somewhere but there's metal detectors and... stuff... I only run the risk of getting my eyeball shot out a little bit, so I'll just be..."

 

Tony went to move around Steve, taking a step forward and curving his shoulders to go past.

 

"Wait," Steve said before he had even thought about it. Tony looked at him with eyes widened just a fraction and Steve realized that he'd thrown out a hand to grip Tony's wrist. He let go and saw that he'd left red fingerprints. "Oh my God, I am so sorry, Tony. I didn't mean to - I didn't think - "

 

Tony shrugged and rubbed absent-mindedly at his wrist with his other hand. He stared at Steve with a small but more honest smile on his lips.

 

"So I guess if you maim me, I'm Tony, huh?"

 

Steve gaped, not sure what to apologize for first. Tony had this way of cutting straight to the chase that Steve would have admired on another man, but it just made him feel wrong-footed all the time around Tony.

 

"So you noticed that," Steve muttered, and immediately regretted the words.

 

To his surprise, Tony laughed.

 

"Course I noticed," he said. Steve wasn't sure what that meant. Did Tony notice everything - or did he notice Steve? 

 

"I really am sorry," Steve repeated, and Tony cocked an eyebrow at him. Steve did not flush. "I mean... for your wrist. I'm usually more careful than that."

 

Tony's gaze snapped to his face like a laser. "Oh really?" Tony murmured, sounding far more interested than Steve thought the words warranted.

 

He nodded anyway. "I am, truly, I don’t know why I slipped up like that. It was just that - I just wanted to ask if you'd. Um. Help me? With my, um, with - with my phone."

 

Tony gave him this slightly worried look that made Steve wince. Maybe the rambling was catching. Which was a problem, because it didn’t sound nearly as good on him as it did on Tony.

 

“Help. You need it. With your phone,” Tony said carefully, making Steve feel like an even bigger idiot than he already did.

 

His first instinct was to get angry, but Steve fought it down – he’d been there and done that, and it wasn’t some kind of weird misplaced desire to have Tony like him, he didn’t have to try so hard to stand up to the man. Tony was like this to everyone, and he wasn’t being malicious, he was just… kind of a dick. Like Clint said. And if Clint didn't mind putting up with it, maybe it was okay if Steve did too.

 

Steve bit his lip and nodded again. He dug into his pocket and produced the tiny little block that lit up with someone’s name every so often.

 

“Oh my God.” Tony’s eyes flew open wide and his jaw dropped.

 

“What?” Steve demanded, nerves prickling. His instincts took over with astounding urgency at the horror in Tony's voice. He dropped the phone without thinking and moved forward to block Tony, completely vulnerable without his metal except for the speed of his mind. “What is it, what, what's wrong?!”

 

“Um.” Tony blinked up at him from just a few inches away. He looked a little dazed and Steve realized that they were almost touching, Steve hovering just a few inches off Tony’s chest, with Tony backed into the wall.

 

“Tony.” Steve barely recognized his own voice; it sounded different, deeper. “What’s the problem?”

 

“I – you – what? Wrong, what’s – oh, right, um, the phone.” Tony was stuttering and stammering, but he sounded confused, not panicked, and Steve's heart rate started to slow.

 

“The… phone?” Steve looked over his shoulder doubtfully at the little piece of plastic. It was now laying mournfully in several pieces on the floor. Whoops. He should probably feel guiltier, but he kind of hated the damned thing in the first place. “Is it, er, wire-tapped or something?”

 

“What?” He turned back to look at Tony, who was still looking a little out of it. The other man’s breath was coming faster, Steve could feel it just barely brushing against his own chest; he supposed he’d startled Tony. Hell, he’d startled himself. “Oh, I mean, no, that’s – yeah, they don’t really – okay, doesn’t matter, no, it’s just, that phone is so crappy, I mean really crappy, it’s awful, it should actually be criminal to give someone a phone like that and so I freaked out and then you freaked out and then. Um. You tackled me. So. Here we are.”

 

Steve frowned down at Tony. He had no idea what the man was rambling about now. And he was having trouble focusing; it was strange to be this close to him after what felt like ages of avoiding him. He’d been an idiot, probably. Tony didn’t seem particularly threatening right now – he had huge, soft brown eyes with eyelashes as long as a girl’s, and the worst case of bedhead that Steve had ever seen, and when he wasn’t in a suit Tony wore skintight shirts that just exposed the line of his collarbone…

 

“Uh, Cap?” Tony was saying, and Steve snapped out of the daze he’d somehow fallen into. “What – what are you doing?”

 

Tony was just looking at him. His voice was soft and his question sounded genuine. All of the swagger had fallen away from him and he looked almost small, confusion open on his face, making himself vulnerable so that Steve could finally read him.

 

And Steve still didn’t understand a damned thing. He couldn’t _think._

“Sorry, sorry, I - ” Steve stumbled back. He didn’t miss the series of expressions that passed over Tony’s face too quickly for him to read, but he couldn’t decipher anything, just caught glimpses of shock-disappointment-surprise-hurt like shadows before they were gone, leaving Steve wondering if he’d imagined everything. “You just startled me,” he finished lamely.

 

“Right,” Tony said, though he still sounded at a loss. “I’ll just – then…” He stole a quick glance at Steve and then hurried down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, without so much as a backward glance.

 

For a moment Steve opened his mouth to call after him, but before he could actually do it he clamped down on the urge and shut his mouth. What would he have to say to Tony, anyway? He didn’t like Tony and Tony didn’t want to be here. Fair enough.

 

“Didn’t show me how to work my phone,” Steve muttered, and suppressed the inexplicable urge to kick the pieces on the floor.

 

“So!” Clint’s head dropped upside-down from a ceiling tile, grinning broadly. Steve managed not to scream but he may have jumped a little. “That looked like fun. A good start, excellent team-building. I’m liking this new approach. Forget kindness, kill ‘em with UST.”

 

“What the hell is…” Steve decided discretion was the better part of valor and just shook his head. He gritted his teeth and glared at Clint. “Do me a favor. Next time you want to set me up… don’t.” Probably Clint hadn't actually been setting him up for a fall, but Steve was in no mood to be fair.

 

“Cap, my man, you see this bow and arrow, you see this cherubic face. I’m sorry, but my alter ego will not allow it,” Clint said with a wink, which just made no sense at all.


End file.
